Motivation
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: Oneshot. The team confronts an unspeakable horror. Check the category label to confirm the sarcasm in that statement.


Disclaimer: I own everything. Except the characters. And the show. And the agency. And the word 'the.'

Summary: One-shot. Remember when the gang missed sensitivity training in _Light Sleeper_? My brain, which is usually reliable, says there are only so many mandatory trainings they can avoid.

Spoilers: Nothing specifically related to anything plottish, unless you hate hearing about inane details before actually seeing them on the show, in which case, why are you reading fanfic and not downloading eps from iTunes?

* * *

"This is bullshit." Gibbs slammed his hand against the director's desk for emphasis.

Shepard didn't react to his outburst. Her tone remained calm as she answered, "I suggest you calm down, Jethro."

"Not until you explain why my team has to waste an entire day."

"You don't have any active cases. This is a mandatory program for the entire agency. Your team does not merit special treatment."

"Like hell they don't, Jen. Show me anyone else in the building that works as hard as they do! The last thing they need is more…"

She didn't allow him to finish. "Special Agent Gibbs, let me be very clear. Unless there is a multiple homicide, you and your team will be spending the day as ordered. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He saluted in mock deference as he yanked her door open. She decided not to call him on it. He was in for a rough day already. She smiled as she turned back to her computer, glad that he hadn't questioned her on why something regarded as 'mandatory for the entire agency' didn't apply to the director herself.

* * *

In the squad room, Tony leaned back in his chair and lobbed a small rubber ball across the aisle to his partner. "Think Gibbs will get anywhere with the Director?"

The ball dropped neatly into Ziva's outstretched hand. "I doubt it. Jen was very…" she let the ball bounce under her cupped hand on her desk as she searched for a word.

"Adamant?" he suggested, catching the ball mere inches from his nose after she had abruptly chucked it at his face.

"Yes, adamant that we all be present for this." She lunged to her left to prevent the ball he had just thrown from hitting Gibbs' desk.

"Nice catch. Where's McGee?" He stood to prevent the ball from sailing over the partition.

"Getting us coffee." She ducked under her desk to recover a missed catch.

"Such a well-trained probie." The ball hit him square in the chest and fell into his lap. "Pretty soon he'll be fetching my slippers and Sunday paper."

She made another lunging catch, this time to her right. "He's not your personal slave."

"Oh, and I suppose it was his idea to go out for coffee?" He caught and returned the ball in one fluid movement.

"As a matter of fact," she paused in the act of throwing. "Okay, I may have gently suggested that he go, but that doesn't mean…" she trailed off as she bounced the ball hard at the midway point between their desks, hitting a perfect angle.

He caught it and attempted the same bounce pass. The ball didn't hit the floor with sufficient force and ricocheted off the front of her desk. "Shit!" He jumped out of his seat in a frantic attempt to track it down. Seconds later, he found himself on his knees in front of Gibbs. He stood slowly, trying not to look at Ziva as he opened his hand to display its contents. "Superball, boss."

Gibbs silently took the ball from Tony and dropped it in the top drawer of his own desk.

Tony hooked his fingers in his pockets and looked longingly toward the drawer. "Glad I only paid a quarter for that in a machine at the supermarket." He took the few steps needed to stand in front of Gibbs' desk. "What's the verdict on today?"

Gibbs didn't glace up as he answered, "The Director was explicit in her instructions. Unless we get called out to a murder scene, we're stuck here."

Ziva nodded her head slowly. "I'll start making calls. I'm sure I can have someone with a Navy connection dead within the hour."

Gibbs seemed to consider the proposal for a moment before saying, "That won't be necessary, Officer David."

She looked up, phone cradled between her shoulder and ear, fingers poised over the keypad. "I'll make sure it's someone who deserves it…" A stare from Gibbs eventually resulted in her putting the phone down with a huff. "Fine."

Tony sat on the edge of her desk. "You are so much scarier than absolutely necessary. You know that don't you?"

She leaned toward him and snapped her teeth together in a pseudo-threatening gesture that was more alluring than menacing, but still intimidating either way. He involuntarily twitched backward, drawing a smirk in response.

Gibbs ignored the exchange. "Where's McGee?"

"Right here, boss." The shoulders of McGee's coat were soaked and his hair sparkled with droplets of water. "I got caught in a downpour on the way back from the coffee shop."

Tony took the cardboard tray from him, pulling a coffee out and handing it to Ziva. "Thought you were a Boy Scout, Probie. Didn't you have an umbrella stashed somewhere in that trench coat?" He removed his own coffee and deposited the tray on McGee's desk.

"I'll remember that next time I need to run out on a five minute errand, Tony." McGee shook some of the excess water off his coat before folding it on the back of his chair. "I take it our plans for the day haven't changed?"

"Nope. Not even a certain Moussad agent's offer to order a hit could save us."

McGee looked at Ziva in alarm. "You weren't really gonna kill someone…"

She calmly sipped her coffee. "Not personally."

"Is it possibly we're just overreacting? I mean, it's just a motivational seminar."

"An eight-hour motivational seminar, Probie. Do you know what motivational speakers are like?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Um, no?"

He approached McGee unhurriedly, speaking slowly, "They're the people who got rejected from _Good Morning America_ gigs for being too perky. And sometimes…" he allowed the tension to build as he returned to his desk and sat, "they're pedophiles."

McGee's eyes popped open. Ziva let out a snort of disgust. "Honestly, Tony, that's not funny. Maybe you _should_ take sensitivity training."

"I was actually referring to Patrick Swayze's character in _Donnie Darko_. If this guy starts talking about everything being a product of fear or love, we're arresting him and getting out of there." He began pawing through his desk, looking for something that could keep him occupied for the day.

Gibbs suddenly stood. "Nine o'clock, people. Let's get up there. And leave the toys down here."

Tony guiltily stopped trying to jam his mini-frisbee into his pocket and put it back in the bottom drawer. He heard something clatter on his desk. Ziva was walking toward the stairs, but turned to wink at him. "For the entertainment fund." He picked up the quarter, wondering if he had time to run to the supermarket before the seminar started.

Gibbs was standing on the landing, staring down at him. "Today, DiNozzo."

He jumped up and ran to the stairs, catching up with Ziva. "And the director thinks we need a guest speaker to motivate us…"


End file.
